


good tidings

by sylwrites



Series: Holiday Vignettes [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Riverdale Holiday Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 01:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12996990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: He’s six steps through the doors of the mall when he sees the lineup of children waiting to see Santa.Yeah,Jughead thinks,I’m gonna regret this.





	good tidings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gellsbells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gellsbells/gifts).



_Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin.._

  
  
  


He’s six steps through the doors of the mall when he sees the lineup of children waiting to see Santa. _Yeah,_ Jughead thinks, _I’m gonna regret this._

 

The line stretches from the candy-cane gated entrance to the Santa display (cheerfully titled ‘Santa’s Workshop’, which makes him want to gag), all the way down past the Gap. The Santa he’s supposed to be relieving looks tired, and even though Jughead does have a little bit of sympathy for the guy, he’s still strongly considering turning and running.

 

Unfortunately, he could really use the extra cash. He’s proud of Jellybean for getting into NYU, and he’s _really_ proud of her for pushing to take an extra class in the winter semester, but her scholarship doesn’t cover books, and between that and paying back his own loans, he’s broke. He’d decided to make full use of the slowing December workload at his day job by getting placed for seasonal work with a temp agency.

 

He didn’t realize it was going to be dressing up as goddamn _Santa Claus._

 

Jughead begrudgingly walks up to the display and taps the shoulder of one of the employees, who turns to smile at him questioningly. It’s a girl - a woman, he realizes, probably about his age, with wavy blonde hair that’s tucked beneath a ridiculously-shaped hat. He further realizes that she’s wearing what seems essentially to be a tight-fitting white-and-red striped onesie with green felt overall shorts on top. His eyes fall to her feet, encased in pointy-tipped shoes, and _duh,_ she’s an elf.

 

“Can I help you?” she asks brightly, her smile wide and her voice overly peppy.

 

“Uh - today’s my first day, I’m taking over for--” Jughead gestures toward the man currently playing Santa, who is entertaining a young boy. “I’m supposed to ask for Betty?”

 

Her smile broadens even further, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh! You must be Forsythe.” She sticks her hand out. “Betty Cooper, nice to meet you.”

 

Jughead makes a face at the sound of his name. “Call me Jughead, please.”

 

Betty raises an eyebrow at that, which _okay,_ he gets it. _Jughead_ isn’t any better than _Forsythe_ in terms of unusual names, but it’s still his preference, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation - least of all this girl dressed as an elf, even if she _is_ unfairly pretty.

 

“Okay, Jughead,” she says, nodding slowly. “I’ll take you around back here and get you ready.”

 

“Get me ready?” Jughead repeats. “What does that mean?”

  
  


What exactly that means soon becomes obvious to him; and after ten minutes of Betty attaching a fake beard, stuffing cotton-filled weight packets into the waistline of his Santa suit - apparently, Santa _has_ to be fat (“it’s part of the whole aesthetic, Jughead, what did you expect?!”) - and another fifteen of her drawing wrinkles on his face with makeup, Jughead is really, really regretting taking this job.

 

“I wonder if it’s too late to go get paid to wrap presents with the old retired ladies,” he wonders aloud.

 

Betty makes a _tsk_ noise. “Don’t let the kids catch that grumpy attitude,” she scolds. “So, it’s pretty easy: they’ll come sit on your knee, you ask what they want for Christmas, they’ll tell you, take a picture, and that’s it. I’m there beside you to help them up if they’re little or if the mom needs help.”

 

Jughead looks up at her, notes her encouraging face, and sighs. “Okay, yeah. How bad can it be?”

  
  
  


He finds out in short order: pretty bad.

 

It turns out that the idea of visiting Santa Claus is _at least_ fifty percent for the parents of most children and not for the kids themselves; this, Jughead’s primary observation from day one, was realized after the fourth kid in a row cried his head off when placed on his knee. He'd comforted the kid as best he could, but eventually he starts to learn that in this job, you smile, take the photo, and let the parents laugh about their kid’s emotional breakdown.

 

Betty suppresses a laugh when a baby girl pulls at his fake beard, nearly outing him. Jughead likes babies, mostly, especially if they're sociable and interactive. This girl reminds him of Jellybean, who was an impossibly happy, excitable infant, and when the girl’s mother carries her off afterward, Jughead feels a little better. _This_ is why he's doing this, after all: for Jellybean.

 

Break time comes three hours into his shift. He retreats to the workshop, feeling a little like actual Santa, and sits on a plastic chair while he contemplates whether Santa can go get a burger.

 

At that moment, Betty pokes her head into the room, the sight of her elf ears making him smile a little. “You want anything from McDonald’s?” she asks. “Generally bad form for Santa to go wandering for food, and I am not repainting all your makeup.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “But elves are free to go?”

 

“Why not?” Betty shrugs. “Elves exist to help Santa. We're forgettable - you're the main event.” She winks. “So, burger?”

 

Jughead pauses briefly but gives her a small order - two cheeseburgers, fries, and a Coke - before she disappears out of the little room. He chews his lip thoughtfully, thinking briefly about her teasing half-smile, then shrugs the thought away and rests his head down on his forearms for a five minute nap.

 

. 

.

.

 

The job gets better and worse at the same time.

  
On his second shift, six children cry and one declares that _he’s not old, so he’s not Santa Claus,_ which he chalks up to the fact that someone other than Betty, who wasn’t there, did his makeup. That creates a bit of a chain reaction, and he has to get swapped out a little early, but he still gets paid for the full time.

 

On his third shift, a kid pukes on him, but this time Betty’s there. She comforts the little boy, helps his mother get him out of the workshop area, and then comes back for Jughead.

 

“C’mon,” she whispers to him as she smiles apologetically to the people in line. “Sorry, all, just a five minute break while Santa cleans up.”

 

She leads Jughead to the family washroom, locks the door, and starts to wipe the vomit off of the Santa costume with paper towels.

 

“You might smell like regurgitated Orange Julius for the next hour,” she says with a grim smile.

 

Jughead makes a face but when his eyes meet hers, he can’t stop himself from smiling back. “Workplace hazards,” he replies, and she giggles.

 

.

.

.

 

He gets her phone number two shifts later, when she decides to get Starbucks from the location across the mall parking lot for their break. She asks for his phone, taps her number into it, then tells him, “Text me your order.”

 

She clearly assumes he is the type to drink something complicated. Jughead doesn’t want to tell her that _tall dark roast, black_ isn’t going to be hard for her to remember.

 

He uses the number later, after shift, once she’s helped him remove the makeup and glue from the beard. He’s on the bus home, earbuds in, when he passes one of his favourite diners and a crazy, stupid idea strikes him.

 

 **_Do you like milkshakes?_ ** he texts, unfortunately realizing only after the message is sent that it’s both not a very good opening line, and also kind of weird.

 

Betty doesn’t respond for twenty-five minutes, even though they’ve both _just left work,_ and Jughead figures she’s trying to figure out how to tell him that he’s making her uncomfortable without making _him_ uncomfortable, which seems to him, from the little he knows of her, to be a very Betty thing to do.

 

When she does reply, he’s already at home with his laptop pulled onto his knees and a cup of black coffee on the table by his feet. Jellybean is in her bedroom, purportedly studying (though with the volume of her music, he’s not sure how that’s possible at all), so there’s no one around to judge the half-excited, half-horrified face he makes when he sees her name on his phone.

 

Jughead swallows his pride and opens the message, fully expecting to see something demanding to know what the hell that is supposed to mean, but instead, she’s said, **_Vanilla and strawberry,_ ** followed nearly immediately by, **_unless that’s supposed to be a euphemism, in which case … also vanilla and strawberry?_ **

 

Jughead grins at his phone.

 

.

.

.

 

They go on their first date on December 28th, partly because Christmas at the mall is fucking ridiculous, but _mostly_ because that’s how long it takes him to summon the courage to ask Betty the Elf out.

 

She’d responded with a wide, excited smile and raised herself slightly onto the balls of her feet. “I’d love to, Jug,” she’d said, her blush not reaching the pointy tips of her fake ears. “After the holidays? I’ll be back in town on the 27th.”

 

“What about that next night?” Jughead had proposed, not telling her that _hell,_ Christmas Day basically worked for him even, Jellybean would understand. Betty had agreed to the 28th, they’d gone back to work, and one week later, Jughead is sitting in a booth at the same shitty diner he’d passed weeks earlier, waiting for Betty.

 

She walks in right on time, wearing a pair of new-looking jeans and a festive dark red sweater, and hands him a flat box.

 

“What’s this?” Jughead asks, giving her a smile as he pulls off the ribbon that surrounds it.

 

She doesn’t need to answer, because right at the top, laying inside, is the Santa hat from his mall costume.

 

“I stole it for you,” Betty confesses, her cheeks turning pink. “Something to remember your first year as a mall Santa.”

 

Jughead chuckles at the gift, shaking his head, and grins at her. “Don’t worry,” he begins slowly, reaching across the table. He takes her hand and says, very intentionally, “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

 

.

.

.

 

 **fin**.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays to all, regardless of what or how you celebrate!


End file.
